


with lips like morphine

by voodoochild



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Backstory, Domestic Kink, F/M, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:24:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not that he isn’t paying attention, it’s that he can’t stop looking at her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with lips like morphine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ceebee, who prompted "Tommy/Polly, cheiloproclitic" (being attracted to someone's lips), and who is one of the most evil enablers I know. Title from the Kill Hannah song of the same name. 
> 
> Set about 1913-ish, a year or so before the war, making Tommy around 20.

She thinks he isn’t paying attention to her.

Polly in a swivet is a sight to behold - it’s not that he isn’t paying attention, it’s that he can’t *stop* looking at her. The color is high on her cheeks as she paces, shouts about whatever it is John’s done today that she blames him for. Her hair tumbles about her shoulders, and he has no idea what she’s saying anymore because she’s wearing makeup, and that makes it worse.

He’s beginning to have a serious reaction to a woman’s lips in red lipstick, because of her. And luckily enough, most women don’t stop him in his tracks with their lip color. Just her - deep bruise-red color lining her lips, cupid’s bow of her upper lip, plush lower lip, pursed and quirked and thinned as she shouts herself out. She concludes that she’ll have to give John a hiding when he gets home, and Tommy winces in sympathy.

"He’s fifteen, Pol. Don’t you remember what I was like at that age?"

"Wasn’t dragging you out of cathouses, I’ll tell you that right now," she says, glancing down and shoving his feet off the table. "If you’ve ruined my tablecloth, I’ll give *you* a hiding."

It’s not precisely the threat she means it to be. He hasn’t actually been afraid of a beating from her in years, not since Mum died, but he hit sixteen, and it just got … uncomfortable. Taking punishment, making amends to her, showing vulnerability? It all kind of knots together down in his stomach and cock, makes him hard and desperate, and he’s *tried* asking for it from other women, but it’s just Polly who gets to him like that.

And he tries to keep all of that off his face, but she catches his chin. “I’ll have your attention, Thomas,” she says, voice like a whip, and fuck, the way her mouth rounds when she says his name. Puts all manner of thoughts into his head. “Is there something more important on your mind than your brother’s behavior?”

"What are you worrying about John for?" he asks. "He’s fine, he’s a teenaged boy who’s discovered his prick for the first time, Arthur and I did the same. Let him be."

She lets go of his chin, sitting in the armchair across from his, slinging her feet over the arm. If you’d told him when she first came to live with them that Aunt Polly would think nothing of slumping the wrong way in an armchair, skirt creeping above her knees, he’d have laughed in your face and told you to see a doctor. But four years where all they had was each other, four years when it was up to them to fix what Dad had bollocksed up, four years of sacrificing for the rest of the family and scraping together enough to keep the house and the shop - it erased a lot of boundaries.

He’s still figuring out just how many.

Polly’s still fretting over John, and it’s just a slow haze of her lips, her voice fading in and out. Christ, he hasn’t felt this stupid since he was fifteen, getting stiff at the slightest breeze, the barest hint of a woman. Polly licks her lip absently, and that’s it, he can’t take anymore. He sits up, catches her ankle in his hand.

"Stop joking, you’re-"

He goes to his knees in front of her chair, runs the backs of his knuckles up her calf, silk against his skin. “Who’s joking? You told me to pay attention to you.”

She sits upright, swings her legs down with her eyebrow climbing toward her hairline. Her lips are doing that amused quirk again, and he has to lean up and kiss her, groans as soon as their lips touch. He feels half-starved, licking the waxy taste of lipstick off her mouth to get to the taste of her, the spike of desire she incites with her teeth nipping at his lower lip. His hands cup her cheeks, stroking his thumbs along her cheekbones - she moans softly into his mouth and he shivers for it, breaking the kiss to gasp for breath.

"God save me from teenaged boys and their cocks," she says, but she distinctly doesn’t move, just swipes her thumb across his lips to rub her lipstick off him.

"I don’t remember you complaining about mine before."

She flushes, she actually flushes like a girl. Mum used to tease her about going pink around the nose and ears, but he never believed it. There are hints of softness that she’s beginning to show around him, and he loves it.

"And unless you want to show yours off to the rest of the house, you’ll get upstairs and wait in my room. Then you can finish what you’ve started, pretty boy."

He sneaks one last kiss before he goes, sweet and furtive and the way she gets to him, he can feel his hands shaking the entire way upstairs.


End file.
